


We Bathe In The Petals Of Our Sin, Together. By God, Together

by beenc0



Series: Our Ashes and Our Blood - Fundywastaken [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anger, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Death in a Garden, Deities, Gardens & Gardening, Gods, Jealousy, Kingdoms, Love Triangles, M/M, Old Gods, Princes & Princesses, Romance, Royalty, Tragic Romance, Trickster Gods, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenc0/pseuds/beenc0
Summary: Death is not kind to liars, not kind to men who kiss and cheat on another. In the white petals of the palace garden, Dream will never forgive his dearest for his betrayal.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Eret & Floris | Fundy, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Series: Our Ashes and Our Blood - Fundywastaken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015014
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	We Bathe In The Petals Of Our Sin, Together. By God, Together

The white roses danced in the wind as the sun glared down on their petals and they danced, and danced, and danced as Fundy pressed a bare hand against the soft petals and leaves that could prick his finger. The sun was high, it's rays bright as time ticked on in the royal garden. Fundy considered this his home now - unlike before -, the garden of the empty palace. The garden that bloomed with darling white roses that spilled over the marble and white stones in a dance and routine that outplayed the royal dancers in the dining hall. The roses that Fundy had raised as a child grew in large vines and bushes as each week passed, all in the name of his god.

Fundy sat down on a painted white wooden bench, watching the guards that hung by his side stand off to give the prince some space. He, Fundy, was the son of the man who won this kingdom it's freedom, it's freedom from the gods. But Fundy had turned his nose up to the fact that his father thought the gods would just stand by as Wilbur raised the purple walls, raised an army, raised and stood as if he was his own god, as if he was equal to them. They did not take that lightly. They tore families apart, tore the walls down, cursed men, children, and wives, turned a friend against them for gold, power, and a hand to become a god. Fundy had nearly ran after that friend, shaking and crying as he watched his childhood best friend kill them all, smile and say goodbye as they let Fundy live. Wilbur had grabbed Fundy as he sobbed, tearing him away from the burnt cape of the new god and back home. 

He took a deep breath, suddenly a wave of emotions crashed over his chest so heavily, almost making him let out a choked sob. The memories were not fond. He wished for his friend to be back at his side, smile and laugh as their soulless white eyes smiled. He wished for the lips of his friend to chastly press against his cheek like they did before the slaughter and kidnapping had scorned the new kingdom. But, do not let the god hear those words. Do not let his lover hear those words. 

“Sire,” A man had appeared, his brown hair was combed back to keep it out of his face as he reached into his satchel that hung by his side.

“Tubbo,” Fundy nodded at his friend, the messenger, “My dear friend, what is it?”

“I have a letter for you,” Tubbo smiled and flushed at the term of relationship the Prince had spoken to him.

“Ah, thank you,” Fundy reached out for the letter that Tubbo placed forwards.

“You-” Tubbo choked over his words, “The crown looks good on you, Fundy.”

“Thank you,” Fundy flipped the letter over in his hands, pausing before he spoke again, “I’d like if we stayed friends, do you not wish the same?”

“I do!” And Tubbo smiled, wide and happy as he engulfed his old friend in a hug, “It has been hard treating you as if you were not.”

“Then we will treat each other like friends,” Fundy smiled as he patted Tubbo’s back. He was younger than Fundy, he had also lost so much in this war. Much more than Fundy had, and enough to make the boy go silent for days on end. Fundy still considered the people who he had fought with as friends, may it be Tommy, Niki, Tubbo, or Jack. They might not treat him like a friend, but they still are. Fundy tried to convince himself, over and over.

“Good day, Tubbo,” Fundy felt Tubbo back away as the guards eyed them suspiciously.

“Yes! I will see you later, friend!” And Tubbo left with a laugh.

Fundy silently watched as Tubbo turned and ran, his satchel swinging at his side as he hurried away from the white garden. Fundy sat in what felt like heaven, the world around him was calm as he stared at the garden that he loved so much. Slowly, he rose with the letter in hand. The guards eyed him warily as the Prince tiptoed across the mossy cobblestone floor, they followed far behind as the Prince made his way through the never ensign garden. If you did not know the path well, you’d get lost in it for hours. Fundy remembered showing the garden to Wilbur not long after it was finished. It was Fundy’s own little project from the time the kingdom had risen, from when it gained its freedom from the Gods. 

Wilbur had gasped in awe had the sheer size of the castle gardens and pressed a warm hand to Fundy’s head as he spoke;

“You did this?”

“It was my idea, father,” And Fundy smiled as he watched Wilbur weave around the grand roses and their thorns. 

“It's amazing.”

And the white rose soon became a symbol of L’manberg, the symbol of its purity, freedom, and power above the gods. To Wilbur, that is what the roses meant. But to Fundy, the white roses were for the god who pressed his kisses to his cheeks and hands to his sides. To the god who kept a possessive hold on the virgin and pure prince. They were to please the easily angered god who kept a hand upon Fundy’s shoulder as he slept and walked in the garden alone. The god was always there. 

Fundy finally turned the last corner and into the grove of the gods. He turned to the guards, hushing them away with a simple flick of his hand. The guards fell behind and left, ready to come rushing back at a single sign of uneasy that the prince could muster. The grove was the same as the gardens, only but with more space for grass and weaving vines of purple grapes. The fruits held a strong, sweet smell in the air as he walked down the stone path that converted into quartz. An overhang of spider webs made from Silk and wood hung above the wide grove, shading the waters and ponds that were filled with fish and lilypads. In the middle was a statue- one of the god who pressed his burning kisses to Fundy’s palms and the backs of his hands. It was nearly unrecognizable, it had been nawed and chipped away at by the raging war that ended many moons ago. 

Fundy walked up to the steps of the large statue, pressing his hands against the golden feet, feeling the cool metal nearly rusted away.

“How about,” Fundy whipped around, “Instead of fawning over the statue version of me, fawn over the real me.”

And there he stood. The great god, the god who held an iron fist over his home, over him and his life. He was dressed in a kingsley uniform, draped in gold and netherite. His mask was painted and it curved into a smile as the god tilted his head as he stood in front of Fundy.

“Oh dear one,” Dream came closer, “It is good to see your face, raw and in the flesh. It’s better than seeing it behind the waves.”

“It’s good to see you as well,” Fundy chose his words carefully as the god scanned him over and over, and over. The god gazed at his clear skin, his combed brown hair and his brown eyes.

“You grow prettier every time I meet with you,” Dream sat, bringing himself down to sit down to the mortal prince. The god pressed a hand to Fundy’s cheek.

“I do wish to say the same but…” Fundy trailed off with a quick laugh.

“But?” Dream snorted, grabbing Fundy’s chin and pulling him to look at the god.

“I cannot see you, your face,” Fundy finished.

And Dream laughed, “You don’t say?”

“I do say!” Fundy let Dream let go of his chin and shoved his shoulder playfully.

They sat underneath the dying statue of the god, sat underneath the shadows of it's outstretched arms and torso, next to the weaving creek that flowed through the grove of the god. No matter how many times Fundy sat there with the god, he did not grow comfortable. Something about the god made him tremble in fear, try and back away as the god pressed hands and smiling kisses to his body. Fundy had reasoned that it was the fact that he was not in love with the god, that he was in love with another. And so recently, he had learned and remembered that he did love someone. Someone who was not this angry god. But it was the traitorous god who was sending the letters, blessing his father's field with a good harvest even though his father did not like or worship the gods. Eret placed blessings while Dream placed curses. 

Fundy felt the letter in his hands grow heavy as Dream played with his hair. Fundy had yet to open the letter from the man who had learned to love, the god who was not Dream. 

“I have told you how much I love your hair?” Dream whispered.

“You have,” Fundy watched carefully.

“Then I will repeat myself,” Dream nodded as he played with the wisps of Fundy’s hair, curling his fingers into the white strands that rid his brown hair. Fundy did not listen to the rest of what dream had to say, he drowned out the mindless romantics that the god placed upon him. He dreamt of the wide wheat fields that Eret, his friend, the person who he had learned to love, blessed and kissed. He dreamt of running through the wheat and into the arms of his dearest, into the awaiting, cool kisses of his lover. He had not wished to be stuck in the scorching hot hands of the god next to him, stuck in the white rose garden and grove with the statue, the reminder that told him that Dream would not let anyone else have him. Oh but did he want to have someone else, want to be with someone else. 

“What is this?” Dream had looked down at the letter that sat in Fundy’s hand, the rush of panic shocked him into a wake.

“This? A letter, I have yet to open it,” Fundy did not speak of who it was from. 

The letters, the many letters he hid away into the chests of his room. The letters from Eret that sent his heart into a flutter. He spent hours waiting for the letters, hours writing his own to the god who held him as if he was glass, unlike the one next to him. Dream held him like he was a prisoner, a prisoner held down by chains. All Fundy wanted to do was run into his room and read the letter, stare at the words and sit down to write his own. 

“Then open it,” Dream gently took Fundy’s wrist, lifting the letter and his hand into the air.

“I do not think that is appropriate,” Fundy quickly spoke out.

“Who is it from then?” Dream questioned.

“No one!” Fundy started to feel his heart rate rise. Dream could not see what was inside this letter or he’d be dead.

“Then, if it is from no one, read it to me. Open it,” Dream felt heat rise in his chest, nearly at a boiling point of anger.

“May I have my privacy? For at least once,” Fundy pleaded.

“If you will not read it to me, then I will read it myself,” Dream snarled as he tore the letter from Fundy’s fingers. Fundy felt panic shoot through his core and down his spine as he yelped and reached forwards to the brown, leather tried letter. 

“Oh Dream- Please!” Fundy started to beg, “I beg of you-!”

“Why is this so important to you?” Dream pressed his hands against Fundy’s shoulders, locking him to the ground. “Why do you not want me to read it? Speak up!”

“I-” Fundy let out a breath, “You will punish me for it.”

“Then you deserved to be punished,” Dream played with the leather straps that tied the letter together, it was wrapped and folded with such care only someone who dearly cared had wrapped it.

“Oh dear...,” Fundy let out a prolonged sigh, sorrow seeping through his bones as he watched the god tear the leather off and throw it into the wind. He surely will be dead by the time Dream is done.

“My Dearest, my old friend, my love,” Dream nearly tore the letter in two at the introductory words, “I wish to send you good luck for the days to come, the harsh winter will come soon. I do hope you stay inside -away from that garden of yours- and not catch a cold. That would be dreadful.” Dream spat out every word, spitting out the words that danced across the love letters, binds and paper. “I wish I could meet you again, it has been too long. I wish to see your smile, your hands and your rosy cheeks.” And Dream nearly combusted right then and there, the air turned hot as the god tipped over boiling point and sent his steaming water of rage out of the kettle. Fundy recoiled in fear as the god nearly burned the letter in half. “But, your letters have provided me with much sanctuary over the past months, I await them each time I send my own out,” Dream hissed through his teeth as he whipped around towards the cowering prince. 

“Dream-” 

“You!” Dream howled, “All of this behind my back! Right under my nose! How dare you!”

And suddenly, a rush of courage soared through Fundy as he stood, “How dare i? This is your fault! If you didn’t treat me as a prisoner- as a toy, none of this would’ve ever happened!”

Dream gasped as he took hold of Fundy's arm, his hands burning into his skin, “Even at times like these you dare talk back to me? At times like these when your life is already endangered due to these letters of yours?”

“I do dare!” Fundy wept as the burning fingers of the god pressed against his arm, he wept as sorrow and despair flooded his senses, “I could’ve- we could’ve loved each other if I wasn’t a prisoner! You keep your iron grasp on me, if I do not do what you wish, you burn me!”

“You do love me don’t you?” Dream questioned, moving his hand that rested on Fundy’s arm to under his chin, burning the Prince's skin as the hand moved.

“I don’t.”

Dream snapped, throwing his loved one, his darling prince to the ground in a rage. The earth trembled as the god boiled with anger. As the world shook, Fundy finally realized why Dream was the god of Death. Fundy could not move as the earth bound him to the ground, hands of the dead reaching for his wrists and locking him to the soil. Fundy opened his mouth to cry out for the guards, for anyone who might’ve gotten lost in the palaces wandering gardens. 

“Don’t,” Dream hissed, shutting Fundy up as he reopened the letter to read again once more. “Your words charm me each time, help me find the power to bless your field with a harvest that will never be forgotten. Your writing and your words, your sly cheekiness and those handsomely drawn out sentences pull me deeper into your calm waters. My dear Fundy, oh do I wish to see your face again. My old friend, my love, my everything, you are mine and no one else will have you.” And Dream laughed, wicked and horrid as a sorrowful, painful sob broke out from Fundy. He was sure to be dead.

“Love, your dearest Eret,” Dream concluded. “I gave that dog their godly powers, I gave them everything just for them to swop my own love off of his feet and into the arms of a mere harvest god?” Dream pressed his hands to his face, his smile large and crooked, “I never thought I’d have to regret that choice, but now I do. They took you away from me and now, they wished to make you their own.”

“Dream,” Fundy spoke, his voice hoarse from his cries, “You cannot do this.”

“Yes I can,” Dream laughed, “I'm Death, I can do whatever I want! A mere harvest god cannot hurt me!” The god stepped towards Fundy, watching the Prince fight against the hands that kept him ground, kept him locked and chained to the soil. Dream knelt down to press burning hot hands to Fundy’s cheeks, Fundy wailed in pain. “They want to have you.” Dream said, his voice low, “But they cannot.” Fundy wept as Dream shoved him onto his back, pressing the heel of his boot to Fundy’s throat. “I am Death, but sadly enough, I cannot follow my souls into their resting place.” Fundy broke free of the hands of death, reaching up to try and tear away the heel of the boot at his throat. “I cannot have you in life or death.” Fundy gasped for air as Dream pressed the heel of his boot harder into his windpipe, harder into his throat. “And if I cannot have you,” Dream snarled, “No one can.” And the heel of the gods boot broke through the skin of the prince's throat, blood poured from the hold, bubbling as it reached the air. Fundy did not have time to scream as blood poured from his mouth and onto his white robes. And he died. The prince could not breathe and quickly suffocated from the hole in his throat. 

Dream watched the man he loved still on the soil below, on the green grass right next to the stature of the god of the dead. The golden statue started down at the broken and bleeding body of the prince. The sun’s own ray lit up the dead body, as if the gods pitied the poor prince who had died at the hands of Death himself. The sun god, a man whose smile was kind and warm, just a boy, reached his hands down to press his familiar hands against the prince's eyelids. The gods stowed away as mortals many times, this sun god was a messenger, a boy who considered the prince a friend, even if the prince did not know who he truly was. Death watched as the Sun kissed the eyelids of the dead prince shut.

“You have killed him,” The Sun spoke.

“If he could not love me in life, he could not love me in death,” Death whispered, he gazed hatefully at the golden sun. 

“The harvest will weep for him,” The Sun kissed the dead prince’s cheek, almost as a silent goodbye.

“Then they shall weep,” Death snarled, “May they feel the pain I have felt.”

“Death,” The Sun whimpered, sadness seeping from his voice, “The gods will not forgive you.”

“Why?” Death glared.

“He,” The Sun motioned to the dead prince, “Was the only one in this kingdom who believed in us. He was our token hero, and now he is dead.”

“Then may they write this in their stories, in their epics,” Death turned his nose upwards.

“The Poets shall once they find his body,” The Sun stood.

“May they get lost in this garden looking for their missing prince,” Death watched The Sun smiled sadly and walked away, up the stairs of the rays and silks the sun weaved. “May the gods cry over my lover's body.”


End file.
